Part 3

This time there was no blessed escape into sleep. As he snored beside her she lay awake, staring bleakly into the darkness, too numbed by shame even to weep.

At last her body told her it was dawn and her ordeal was over. Creeping from the bed, she poured cold water into the bowl and attempted to scrub the taint of him – and her own betrayal – from her weary body, if not her soul.

Slipping on her stained gown she tiptoed towards the door, desperate to escape before he woke, but her hand was on the handle when an icy voice froze her in her tracks.

‘And just where do you think you’re going, girl?’ Lynet turned slowly to face him. He was propped up on one elbow, regarding her with an expression of cynical amusement. She stared back, her fingers kneading the cloth of her skirts, trying not to let her fear of him show.

‘The night is over, my lord,’ she said, with dignity. ‘I am going back to my husband and family.’

He lay back, put his hands behind his head and gave her a heavy-lidded smile. ‘Oh, I think not,’ he said slowly. ‘I rather enjoyed our little frolics. In fact, I think I’ll avail myself of your company a little longer. At least until you cease to amuse me.’

Her eyes widened in shock. ‘But you cannot do that,’ she protested. ‘You have had your dues. The droit du seigneur…’ she stumbled over the foreign words ‘…only gives you the right to my wedding night. You cannot keep me here against my will.’

His smile vanished. ‘How dare you tell me what I can or cannot do?’ he demanded. ‘I am the lord of this manor and you are nothing. Less than the dust beneath my feet. If I say you will stay here, then stay you will. My word is law.’

‘Then damn your word,’ snapped Lynet, her fear replaced by anger. ‘I am going home whatever you say.’ Whirling round she pulled the door open, stalked through it, and straight into Sir Giles.

He grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her, then turned her round and propelled her back into Lord Ranulf’s chamber. She struggled to break free, but despite his effete appearance his fingers were like iron. ‘God’s bones, Ranulf, you must be losing your touch,’ he said, chuckling at his cousin. ‘The lady seems in an unflattering hurry to leave you. Did you not please her?’ He winked at Ranulf. ‘What did you do to offend her; fail to rise to the occasion?’

Ranulf simply grunted and swung his legs out of bed. He reached for his scattered clothing and began to pull it on.

‘Perhaps it’s for the best,’ went on Giles, more seriously. ‘The bridegroom and both families are already at the gate demanding her return.’

‘Then they’ll have a long wait,’ snorted Ranulf. ‘She’ll return when I say so and not before.’

Giles stared at him, taken aback. ‘Are you mad?’ he demanded. ‘You cannot just appropriate her as if she were some falcon or hunting bitch you’ve taken a fancy to. She is another man’s wife.’

‘A peasant’s wife,’ corrected Ranulf. ‘I am his lord. He owes his house, his land his very existence in fief to me. If I choose to keep her then he must bow to my will.’ He smiled unpleasantly. ‘In fact, he should be flattered that I admire his taste.’

‘Somehow I don’t think he’ll see it like that,’ said Giles, clearly worried. ‘Do you think this wise, Ranulf? These Saxon brutes are touchy fellows. Do you want them to rise in rebellion?’

‘With what?’ said Ranulf in amusement. ‘Plowshares and pitchforks? I think not.’ He tugged on his boots and stood up. ‘Let them wait a little longer,’ he announced. ‘I shall break my fast, then go and tell them my decision.’

Lynet had listened to the conversation with rising rage. ‘And what of me?’ she demanded, her voice shrill with fury. ‘Do I have no say in this matter? Am I some chattel, to be passed from hand to hand as the notion takes you?’

Both men stared at her, as much astonished as if a chair or table had suddenly begun complaining, then looked at each and laughed.

‘You’re a woman,’ said Giles, stating the obvious. ‘You do as you’re told. You keep your mouth shut and know your place.’

‘My place?’ squawked Lynet. ‘And what exactly is “my place”, pray?’

‘Between my sheets, until I grow bored with you,’ said Ranulf. He shrugged. ‘After that your Saxon is welcome to you.’

‘Bastard,’ cursed Lynet, flying at him with her fingers clawed. She’d have had his eyes out if he’d not gripped her wrists and fended her off. There was a brief undignified struggle then he tossed her back on the bed, where she lay glaring at him like an enraged cat.

‘So much for taming her,’ said Giles ruefully. ‘Give me a delicate little pageboy any day.’ He grinned and slapped his cousin on the shoulder. ‘You’re a braver man than I, Ranulf. I should not care to share my bed with such a termagant. One of these days you might wake up with your throat cut.’

‘I like to live dangerously,’ said Ranulf. ‘Now let us break our fast. I’m so hungry I could eat my own horse.’ Laughing, they sauntered out of the chamber, and Lynet heard the key turning in the lock behind them.

For a few moments she lay on the bed, fighting back the overwhelming urge to weep, then she got to her feet and began to prowl round the chamber looking for something she could use as a weapon. Ranulf would have to come back sooner or later, and when he did he would receive a welcome he did not expect.

She smiled grimly. Norman women might be meek creatures who knew their place and kept their mouths shut when their precious masters told them what to do, but Saxon women were a different proposition.

Unfortunately the chamber was lacking in weapons. It was most inconsiderate of Lord Ranulf not to keep a convenient sword beside his bed. In fact the sharpest instrument Lynet could find was the goose feather quill Father Anslem had been writing with the night before, and somehow she could not see herself inflicting much damage with that.

In the end she had to improvise. The chamber pot beneath the bed was of heavy earthenware. Brought down on an unwary skull it should inflict a reasonable amount of damage. Lynet hefted it above her head with both hands and nodded to herself.

Yes, it would do nicely. At the very least Lord Ranulf would have an extremely sore head for a few days. Her only regret was that it was empty; the sight of his lordship’s fine silk gown soaked in piss would have been an added pleasure.

Stationing herself behind the door she waited for his return, and after an interminable length of time her patience was rewarded by the sound of boots coming along the corridor. The key turned in the lock and she braced herself for action.

As soon as the door swung open she stood on tiptoe and brought down her ‘weapon’ as hard as she could. There was a muffled grunt – and bread, cheese, ale and shards of shattered chamber pot went flying in all directions.

Lynet smiled down in triumph at the fallen body – then gasped. Oh no, she’d just killed some scrawny old man she’d never clapped eyes on in her life before!

But thankfully she had overestimated her abilities. Her victim wasn’t dead, just stunned. He was taller than Lord Ranulf, so instead of hitting his head she’d merely caught him a glancing blow on the shoulder, and although he was scrawny he appeared to be as tough as old boots.

‘Whatchoo do that for?’ he demanded, sitting up and rubbing his bruises. He glared at her as she helped him to his feet. ‘Fine thanks that is for bringing you a bite to eat,’ he grumbled, looking round at the mess. ‘Well you can just clear this lot up yourself, girl. Ol’ Alfred ain’t doing it for you.’

Lynet stared at him. ‘You’re a Saxon!’ she said in surprise.

‘Born and bred,’ he confirmed, giving her a toothless smile.

‘So what are you doing serving these Norman bastards then?’ she demanded, her face dark with disapproval. The word ‘traitor’ hung unspoken in the air between them.

Old Alfred’s smile disappeared. ‘Don’t you look at me like that, girl,’ he snorted. ‘I were a slave. Norman, Saxon, one master’s as good as another to me, and young Ranulf’s dad weren’t a bad one, neither.’ He scowled. ‘A damned sight better’n the one I had before they come, and he were Saxon.’

He sat down on the edge of the bed and his face crinkled into a reminiscent smile. ‘Treated me well, he did. Decent food, decent bed, and no beatings so long as I did me work well.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘He were a good’un, the old lord.’

Lynet stared at him in fascination, seeing Lord Ranulf in a new light. So he hadn’t been spawned by the devil after all, and he must at least have a shred of human kindness if he’d kept on his father’s faithful old retainer.

Absentmindedly she picked a chunk of bread and a hunk of cheese off the floor, dusted off the odd splinter and sat down beside Old Alfred to eat it. ‘So now you serve his son?’ she said, through a mouthful.

‘That bugger?’ scoffed Alfred. ‘He don’t even know I exist.’ He winked and tapped the side of his nose. ‘I just sort of tag along. Make meself useful. ’Oo’s going to notice good Ol’ Alf?’

He scowled again. ‘Nah, young Ranulf’ll never be a patch on his dad. ’E was a right little bastard when ’e were a boy, and ’e’s a right big bastard now ’e’s grow’d up. Mean, spiteful, a real nasty bit o’ work.’

‘But he does have exceptionally good hearing,’ said an icy voice, and Lynet and Alfred turned in unison to see Lord Ranulf lounging at the door, arms folded and with a face like thunder.

Alfred blenched and sprang to his feet with remarkable agility for a man of his age. ‘I’m sorry, my lord, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it,’ he gabbled, bowing frantically. ‘I’m just a loose-tongued ol’ fool what don’t know any better.’

‘Well, in future keep your tongue off me, or you’ll find it loosened from your skull,’ warned Ranulf. ‘Now get out.’

‘Yes, my lord, right away, my lord,’ cringed Alfred, edging past him, and as he turned to scuttle off he yelped as Ranulf’s boot helped him on his way.

‘You didn’t have to do that,’ protested Lynet. ‘He’s just an old man.’

‘That’s rich coming from someone who tried to beat him to death with a chamber pot,’ said Ranulf, idly poking at the shards with the toe of his boot. ‘At least I presume that’s what happened.’ He raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Or did you just have a rather explosive bowel movement?’

Lynet flushed. ‘It should have been you,’ she muttered.

‘I’m grateful it wasn’t,’ he said, biting his lip to conceal his amusement. ‘Death in battle is one thing. Death by chamber pot doesn’t have quite the same heroic ring to it.’

The fleeting trace of humour vanished. ‘Anyway, on your feet, girl. Your husband and family have cooled their heels at the gate long enough. ‘’Tis time to break the news that you will not be returning to their loving arms after all.’

Lynet stared at him. Keeping her against her will was bad enough, but to flaunt her continued shame in front of them was crueller still. ‘May I not remain here?’ she pleaded. ‘Surely there is no need for my presence when you tell them?’

‘Of course there is,’ he said.

‘But why?’

‘It is simple,’ he said in tones of exaggerated patience that implied she was simple too. ‘I am considered such an ogre that if you are not there they are perfectly capable of imagining I have had my wicked way with you, murdered you then thrown your body in the moat.’

‘’T’would be better for me if you had,’ muttered Lynet.

‘That may be so, but I have not,’ he said. ‘As your presence there will prove.’ He tapped his foot. ‘Now do you come of your own accord, or must I drag you there kicking and screaming?’

Lynet scrutinised his expression carefully, gauging exactly how far she could push him, then sighed. It was no use. He was perfectly capable of doing exactly that. ‘All right, I’m coming,’ she said sulkily, rising to her feet, moving as slowly as she dared. ‘May I at least comb my hair first?’ she enquired sarcastically. ‘Or is that too much to ask?’

‘Five minutes,’ he said grimly. ‘I shall be back then, and if you are not ready…’ He banged the door shut, leaving the unfinished threat hanging in the air behind him.

Lynet rummaged hastily among his effects till she found a carved wooden comb and ran it through her hair, wincing as it caught on knots and tangles. Mindful of his return she wove it quickly into a thick plait. Further investigation revealed a small piece of polished metal he obviously used for shaving and she held it up at various angles, trying to see herself.

Finally she was satisfied. At least she looked decent and not like some strumpet fresh from a bed of sin, but a pang smote her as she remembered her wanton behaviour of the night before. Who was she trying to fool? That’s exactly what she was!

Her unhappy thoughts were interrupted by the return of Ranulf. He looked her up and down and nodded in approval. ‘You’ll do,’ he said. ‘Well enough for a bunch of ignorant Saxon peasants, anyway.’

‘I am an ignorant Saxon peasant,’ said Lynet, through clenched teeth.

‘But you are my mistress now,’ he pointed out. ‘Your status reflects my own.’

She stared at him with her mouth open. ‘Your mistress?’ she gasped. ‘Do you seriously imagine I am here by choice? I am your prisoner, not your mistress!’

‘You are whatever I say you are,’ he said bluntly. ‘Now come; I have no more time to waste with shilly-shallying.’ Turning, he left her no choice but to follow him.

The great hall was almost empty now. The lord’s table stood in its place, but the trestles were folded away against the walls, with various bedrolls stacked neatly underneath.

A few servants were clearing away the remains of breakfast and a couple of the soldiers still lounged around. Lynet was horribly conscious of their sideways glances and muffled sniggers as she trailed after Lord Ranulf towards the door.

Outside, the autumn sunshine hit her like a blow after the dimness of the interior. The long walk down the castle steps and across the bailey to the gates seemed to go on forever, yet they still reached the huge wooden gates far too soon for her liking.

‘Open them,’ ordered Lord Ranulf, and as they cranked apart Lynet gasped. It was not just Edric and her family waiting for her outside – it was every man in the village!

Walter and Edric stepped forward, and Lynet gasped again. The left-hand side of Edric’s face was a mass of bruises where he’d been kicked, contrasting horribly with the unnatural paleness of his skin. Even as she watched he swayed on his feet and had to be steadied by her father, but despite this his face was a mask of determination.

If Lord Ranulf was taken aback he did not show it. ‘Have you no business to be about?’ he demanded sharply.

‘We are about our business,’ said Walter. ‘We come to claim our own.’ There was a low rumble of agreement from the crowd behind them.

‘You are wasting your time,’ said Lord Ranulf arrogantly. ‘She is no longer yours. She is mine now, and will remain so until I say differently.’

At his words a ripple of unrest ran through the gathering, and Lynet noticed the flash of sunlight as it glinted ominously off the tips of sickles and pitchforks. At her back she could hear heavy footsteps and the chink of armour as Lord Ranulf’s men took up positions behind their master.

‘She is not yours, nor ever will be,’ said her father. ‘Either you hand her back now or we shall take her. By force if necessary.’

‘As you please,’ shrugged Lord Ranulf.

The sound of bowstrings being drawn sent a chill down Lynet’s spine. The men of the village would stand no chance against Lord Ranulf’s trained soldiers. At the first move a volley of arrows would cut them down, and those unlucky enough to survive would be hacked to pieces by his swordsmen. She could not let it happen; so stepping to the fore she looked down at the angry mob.

‘Go back to your homes,’ she said. ‘There is no need for this.’ Gritting her teeth she forced herself to take Ranulf’s hand and smile up at him, before turning back to face the crowd, staring at them defiantly. ‘I choose to remain with my lord, of my own free will.’

There was a moment’s stunned silence, then her father’s face twisted in disgust. ‘In that case you are no longer a daughter of mine,’ he snarled, and with a look of contempt he spat at her feet. ‘Come lad,’ he said, taking Edric’s arm, ‘you’re better off without the trollop.’

Edric shook him off. ‘No!’ he cried in anguish. ‘I do not believe it. He’s making her say that. Lynet, tell them the truth, I beg you!’

Her heart breaking, she stared at him stonily until his shoulders sagged and he finally let Walter lead him away, and she watched as her friends and family turned to strangers before her. But as they disappeared over the hill, with never a backward glance, she closed her eyes. She had saved them, but at what cost to herself? Tears leaked from beneath her eyelids.

There was no hope from any quarter now. She was Lord Ranulf’s to do with as he wished. ‘A wise choice,’ the man said with a smirk. ‘I’m glad you came to your senses and realised who was the better man.’

Anger dried Lynet’s tears in an instant. ‘You flatter yourself, my lord,’ she spat. ‘Do you really think I stay with you because I want to?’ She stared pointedly at his scarred face. ‘Perhaps you imagine I was swayed by your handsome looks and your good manners?’ She laughed mockingly. ‘If so, I suggest you think again. If I had the choice I would sleep with the pigs in Peter Attewood’s sty as lie with you.’

‘That’s you put in your place and no mistake, cousin,’ said Sir Giles. ‘I must admit she has a way with honeyed words, your little Saxon,’ he said admiringly. ‘I wish my lovers were half as appreciative of my charms as she is of yours.’

Ranulf’s face flushed with temper. ‘If I want your opinion I shall ask for it,’ he snapped. ‘If not, then keep it to yourself.’ He turned his attention back to Lynet. ‘As for you, girl, I hardly think your husband and family will welcome you back after this, so I suggest you learn to do as you’re told and keep a civil tongue in your head.’ He smiled unpleasantly. ‘You would find the world a cold, hard place without a protector.’

Lynet lowered her eyes. His words were true. What would she do if he cast her off? Throw in her lot with the trollops who serviced the garrison and end up dead or diseased? She shuddered. Better a whore to one man than to many. ‘Yes, my lord,’ she muttered.

He regarded her with a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. ‘That’s better,’ he declared. ‘Now, enough, all this talking has made me thirsty.’ He turned and stalked back to the castle, with Lynet walking at a respectful distance behind him.

In the hall she sat at the high table, with her hands folded like an obedient child, while he and his cronies laughed and drank. Even when he’d had his fill and gestured for her to follow him to the bedchamber again, she did so without protest.

Standing like a statue she allowed him to slip off her clothes, and when she was naked she simply stood as he ran his hands over her breasts and tummy and thrust his fingers between her legs.

Even when he pushed her onto the bed, parted her thighs and mounted her, she remained unresponsive. While he grunted and stabbed himself inside her she lay as still as death beneath him – even when he bucked and groaned as he spent himself. Lying with her eyes shut she hid a smile of bitter satisfaction. He’d wanted mindless obedience, and he got it. Let’s see how much he liked it now.

He didn’t.

Rolling off her limp body he sat up and scowled. ‘Hell’s teeth, girl,’ he complained. ‘I’ve seen livelier corpses. I think I preferred it when you still had a bit of fire in your belly.’

‘I am sorry I did not please you, my lord,’ she said meekly. ‘I thought you wished me to do as I was told.’ The minute the last few words were out of her mouth she regretted them. Why hadn’t she quit while she still had the upper hand instead of pushing things too far?

‘So that’s your little game,’ he said, as comprehension dawned. ‘Do exactly as you’re ordered, eh?’ He smiled nastily. ‘Well, I’ve had too many soldiers under my command to fall for that old trick. It wouldn’t work for them, and it isn’t going to work for you.’

His sly smile widened. ‘Perhaps what you need is a little something to heighten the blood, my lady. We’ll see how long it takes to warm that icy exterior.’ Leaning over he dragged her onto his knee and raised his hand as she cringed, waiting for the first blow to fall. But it never came. Instead there was the sound of running feet and a thunderous knocking on the chamber door.

‘What now?’ he demanded, shoving her away and going to answer it, finding Sir Simon standing there, his eyes bright with excitement.

‘Come quickly, Ranulf,’ he said. ‘There’s a message, from the king!’

Cursing under his breath Ranulf followed him out, forgetting to lock the door behind him.

Lynet pulled on her clothes and tiptoed across, pulling it a little further open. From her vantage point she could see a sweat-stained rider slumped at the table. Father Anslem was reading aloud from the scroll he’d brought, while the others clustered round him.

‘A bit of action at last!’ exulted Ranulf, when he had finished. ‘I was beginning to think I’d die of boredom here.’

‘What the hell did Philip of France think he was doing, encroaching on Normandy?’ demanded Sir Giles. ‘Did he imagine King William so old and feeble he would let it pass unchallenged?’

‘If he did, he was wrong,’ said Ranulf, dryly. ‘I am bidden to gather as many men as possible and ride with all haste to Dover.’ He looked at his cousins. ‘Come, gentlemen, there is no time to waste. We are at war with France.’

When he returned to his chamber Lynet was where he’d left her, sitting on the bed. Oblivious of her he began to gather his things hurriedly together.

‘Are you going somewhere?’ she asked innocently.

He looked at her distractedly, as though considering simply getting rid of her. ‘To war,’ he said abruptly. ‘You will wait here till I come back.’ He pushed his face close to hers. ‘And should you get any clever ideas about misbehaving in my absence, I shall have you watched. When I return I shall find out your every move.’

‘If you return,’ goaded Lynet. ‘War is a chancy thing. All it needs is one well-placed arrow and you are nothing but a corpse rotting on the battlefield, with the crows pecking at your eyes.’ Her smile suggested she was looking forward to the prospect.

He gave a bark of laughter. ‘God’s truth, but you are a bloodthirsty little creature,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Giles is right; I may be safer fighting the French than I am sharing a bed with you. But I wouldn’t get your hopes up quite so soon, my sweet. I have survived wars before, and I have every intention of surviving this one too.’ With that he picked up his pack and left her.

The rest of the morning was a blur of activity. In the hustle and bustle no one yet appeared to have been set to spy on her, so she was free to wander as she chose. From the castle doorway she watched as Ranulf and his cousins rode around, barking orders and gradually gathering the men together.

The air was full of dust and the smell of sweat; loud with shouting, the whinnying of horses, the clank of iron and the creak of leather, but gradually out of the confusion came order.

By noon they were all assembled, rank upon rank. The great gates swung open and they began to march out, Lord Ranulf and his cousins at their head, bright pennants fluttering in the breeze. Behind them trundled huge carts full of supplies.

Lynet watched until they were over the horizon and out of sight; until the sound of tramping feet had long since died away; until nothing was left to show that they had ever been there but a cloud of dust settling behind them.

Shoulders drooping, she turned back into the castle. It had seemed huge before, but now it was almost empty the vaulted ceiling seemed to stretch up into infinity. A few remaining servitors, freed from supervision, lounged around idly, eyeing her with a mixture of contempt and speculation, wondering exactly what duty, if any, they owed to her.

Lynet stared back. If she was to have any respect at all she must assert herself, otherwise she would be at their mercy until Ranulf returned. Pulling herself up to her full height she marched towards them and glared imperiously at the hefty, sullen-faced one who looked as if he was in charge. ‘You,’ she snapped. ‘Fetch me something to eat and drink. Immediately.’

He regarded her insolently and didn’t move. ‘Oh yes, and who exactly might you be, handing out orders as if you owned the place?’ he demanded, looking at his cronies and smirking.

Lynet gritted her teeth. ‘I am Lord Ranulf’s mistress,’ she said, the words practically sticking in her throat. ‘And while he is gone you will obey me.’

‘That’s you told good and proper, Pete,’ sniggered one of the others. ‘Best do as the lady tells you. Off you go now, quick as you like.’

At these words all pretence of good humour disappeared. Pete’s eyes narrowed and he scowled at Lynet. ‘Obey you?’ he sneered, looming over her threateningly. ‘’Oo says?’

‘I says, that’s who,’ came a quiet voice from behind Lynet. She whirled round and found Old Alfred standing behind her. He gave her a brief nod and turned his attention back to the other man. ‘You got a problem with that, Pete?’ he enquired amiably.

Much to Lynet’s astonishment, Pete backed down immediately. ‘Me?’ he said with a weak grin. ‘Not at all, friend. Not at all.’ He gave Lynet a false smile that couldn’t quite disguise his loathing. ‘Something to eat and drink? Of course, my lady, right away.’ Moving as slowly as possible, he and his cronies sauntered off.

‘Thank you,’ she said gratefully, looking at Alfred with new respect. ‘But how on earth did you manage that? He’s twice as big as you.’

Alfred gave her a sly wink and tapped the side of his nose. ‘Mebbe so,’ he agreed, ‘but when you’ve been around as long as I have you knows where the bodies is buried. There’s one or two things our Pete wouldn’t be too happy to have gossiped about.’

‘I am truly grateful,’ she said. ‘But to be honest, after the way I treated you at our last encounter I’m not sure I deserve your kindness.’

‘All forgotten,’ he said generously. ‘Us Saxons gotta stick together.’

‘Well, it was lucky for me you turned up when you did…’ she said, her voice trailing off as she shuddered; one blow from Pete’s meaty fist would have broken her jaw.

He slapped his head in annoyance. ‘Good God, I’m getting doted in my old age,’ he said. ‘’T’weren’t luck at all, my lovely. I were coming looking for you.’ He grinned at her. ‘You’ve got a visitor.’

‘A visitor?’ she echoed. ‘But who?’

‘Best come and see for yourself.’

Her heart pounding she followed him out of the hall to the great gates. Had her father forgiven her? Had Edric taken advantage of Lord Ranulf’s absence to rescue her?

No, disappointment washed over her as she saw the small figure waiting for her. ‘Walter, what are you doing here?’ she gasped, staring at her brother in surprise.

‘Mother and father sent me with this,’ he said, hefting the sack he was carrying. ‘It’s all your things.’ He looked wide-eyed at his sister. ‘Father said I wasn’t to talk to you. He says you’re not my sister any more.’

Lynet forced herself to smile. ‘Father is just angry with me,’ she said. ‘Of course I’m your sister. I’ll always be your sister.’

‘He burnt your bed too,’ he informed her, his eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘He said that’s what you’re supposed to do with a snake’s nest. Burn it out. He was going to burn all your clothes as well, but mother wouldn’t let him.’ He paused and looked at Lynet with a puzzled expression. ‘What’s a whore?’ he asked. ‘Is it something nasty, like the bogeyman?’

Tears stung Lynet’s eyes, but she blinked them back. ‘Something like that,’ she confirmed.

‘He couldn’t have meant you then,’ young Walter said cheerfully. ‘You’re not scary. He must have been talking about something else.’ A look of guilt crossed his face as he suddenly remembered he shouldn’t be speaking to Lynet at all. ‘I’d better go,’ he said. ‘Father will be waiting for me. Bye, Lynet.’ Then much to her astonishment her undemonstrative little brother suddenly flung his arms round her waist and hugged her. But before she had a chance to respond he pulled away and headed back down the hill at a run, leaving her staring after him.

Alfred cleared his throat and patted her shoulder awkwardly. ‘Don’t you fret, girl,’ he said. ‘Your dad’ll come round again some day. You mark my words. It takes more’n a few harsh words to break the blood ties.’

‘Do you think so?’ she asked hopefully, then her eyes fell on the sack at her feet containing her few pitiful belongings, and the hope died. Father had burnt her bed and would have burnt them too if he hadn’t been stopped. He was wiping her out of his life as if she’d never existed in the first place.

She bent down and picked it up. ‘I had better put these away,’ she said. ‘Lord Ranulf’s cedar chest is empty. I’m sure he’ll not begrudge me using it in his absence.’ Head held high to hide her despair she walked back through the hall, just in time to meet Pete returning with a tankard and a plate of bread and meat.

‘Your food, my lady,’ he said, with an ingratiating smile.

‘I am no longer hungry, thank you,’ she said, walking past him to the chamber and closing the door behind her.

He stared after her, the smile vanishing. His mouth twitched and his expression became sly.

Lynet sat on the end of the bed and braced herself to open the sack. She’d expected everything to be ripped and stained, jumbled together and stuffed into it in a fury, but to her surprise it was all clean and neatly folded.

As she lifted out each dress and shift and put them away in the sweet-smelling cedar chest beside Lord Ranulf’s few discarded garments, it was like coffining the corpse of her previous existence.

The last thing she pulled out was her green woollen gown. As she lifted it she remembered the carefree day Eda had scolded her for climbing the tree. The day her father had returned with the news of Lord Ranulf’s coming. A lump came to her throat. If she’d known then what his arrival would lead to she would have flung herself from the highest branch and dashed herself to death on the welcoming ground.

As she bent to put the gown away she felt something hard tucked in its folds, and laying it on the bed she investigated and found a small, oblong package, neatly wrapped in a clean rag, and with fingers shaking she undid it.

All it contained were a few stale honey cakes, but as far as Lynet was concerned they were worth more than all the gold in King William’s treasury. Her father might have disowned her, but here was proof that at least someone still cared for her, no matter what.

At the thought of her mother, hiding the cakes away so carefully and risking her father’s wrath to send a tiny message of love and comfort, Lynet’s hard won control deserted her, and slumping down on the bed she wept as if her heart would break.

When she woke, late next morning, she found that hot water and food had been laid out for her and, going by the sweeter smell of the air, the chamber pot had been emptied. Thanks no doubt to the good offices of Alfred, it seemed that her physical needs, at least, would be taken care of.

With a sigh she forced herself to leave the warmth of the covers and brave the chill of the chamber long enough to grab the meat and drink and retire back to bed with them.

Nibbling half-heartedly at her food, she pondered on her present situation. It would be spring at the very earliest before Lord Ranulf returned, so what was she supposed to do with herself in his absence? She was unused to idleness. At home she would have been up long since, helping her mother with the daily tasks of cooking or fetching water and firewood, and now that she was a married woman she should be doing those same tasks for her husband. But she wasn’t a real married woman, was she? Lord Ranulf had put an end to her marriage before it had even begun.

Father Oswald had said that fine ladies occupied their time with embroidery, or if they were pious, good works for the church or the poor, but then she wasn’t a fine lady either.

She sighed. She was neither fish nor fowl nor good red meat. She had no place at home any more, nor did she have a place here. So what was she going to do?

She smiled wryly. Short of pulling the coverlet over her head and sleeping until May, she had better bestir herself and find something, otherwise she would run mad with boredom.

Having made up her mind she felt much more cheerful. She finished breaking her fast and got out of bed. The washing water was now cold, but she scrubbed herself hard enough to make her skin tingle before wrapping herself in a drying cloth.

Rummaging through the cedar chest she pulled out a shift and her old green gown and pulled them on. That done, she dragged the wooden comb through her tangled hair and drew it back into its usual thick plait. Finally she fetched out her old cloak, threw it round her shoulders and left the chamber.

Once again the great hall was untenanted, apart from two lackeys heaping wood on the fire that was always kept burning in the central hearth. Despite its warmth, she shivered. There was something eerie about such vast emptiness when the place should be teeming with life.

They had fallen silent at her entry and the only sound, apart from the crackle of flames, was the soft whisper of her leather shoes against the wooden floor. She felt like some drifting spirit lost in limbo.

Outside, she took a deep breath of clean air. A light autumn rain was falling, but it was still mild. On the bailey below she could see the wooden buildings and small figures going to and fro about their business. Pulling her hood up against the rain she decided to take a walk down and explore. At least it was better than sitting in Lord Ranulf’s chamber, staring at the four walls.

To her surprise not everyone had gone with Lord Ranulf’s war band, and there were more people around than she’d expected. Not that they took any notice of her, she thought wryly. If they knew who she was they did a remarkably good job of concealing it.

Still, it made it easier for her to roam, sticking her nose in wherever the fancy took her. The kitchens were still busy, as those left behind still needed to be fed, though the fare was plain compared to that cooked while the master was in residence. Sweating minions were feeding great trays of bread into the stone ovens while a great haunch of meat turned on a spit. Lynet watched, fascinated, until the cook noticed her and she beat a hasty retreat.

The blacksmith’s and armourer’s was completely empty though; the forge cold and only a few broken swords and shields left piled against the wall to show what he had been working on before the call to arms had come. She hefted one of the swords, marvelling at its weight, before letting it drop back on the pile and exploring elsewhere.

It was the stables that drew her next. The wholesome scent of horse still hung on the air, but at first glance they were empty, every beast having been pressed into service for the long march south. Lynet looked round the long row of empty stalls, then jumped as she heard a faint snicker of welcome. Right at the end of the row a neat brown head was poking above the half door, its owner regarding her with gentle curiosity. Picking up her skirts she hurried along to it.

‘Hello,’ she said, stroking the velvety muzzle and wishing she’d thought to bring some of her leftover bread. ‘Poor thing. All your friends have gone away and left you.’ The horse whinnied its agreement and nudged her hopefully.

‘Sorry, sweetheart, I haven’t got anything for you,’ she smiled, showing her empty hands.

‘I got an apple you can give ’er, my lady,’ someone said, making her almost jumped out of her skin. Whirling round she found herself staring at a tow-haired boy of about twelve, smiling shyly and holding out a handful of quartered apples.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

‘Tom the stable lad,’ he said, proudly puffing out his chest. ‘Now everybody else has gone, I’m in charge.’

Looking more closely, Lynet could see why he’d been left behind. He was closer to fourteen than twelve, but small for his age, not much taller than her brother Walter, and one leg was about four inches shorter than the other, giving him a peculiar lopsided appearance. Lynet had always had a soft spot for lame ducks, so instead of berating him for startling her, she smiled back. ‘And I’m sure you’re doing a good job of it, too,’ she said.

His chest swelled even more at the unexpected words of praise. ‘Thank you, my lady.’ Going by his respectful mien and look of awe, he already knew who she was and, unlike the obnoxious Pete, seemed to consider her of the same status as Lord Ranulf. He offered the apples again. ‘Her name’s Janna. Would you care to feed her?’

An impatient whinny from Janna suggested that this would be a really good idea and would they kindly stop talking and get on with it before she starved to death?

Tom and Lynet smiled at one another. ‘Thank you,’ she said, and taking a piece of apple she laid it on her palm and held it out. Janna daintily picked the titbit off, crunched it with relish, and then waited expectantly for more.

When the apple was gone Lynet thanked Tom once more then turned to go, but his face fell at the thought of being left alone again. ‘Would you like to see her out?’ he offered, looking at Lynet hopefully. ‘I were just going to exercise ’er.’

‘That would be lovely,’ said Lynet, for whom the alternative of going back to her empty chamber was equally uninviting.

‘Great!’ grinned Tom, then he blushed. ‘Er… I mean, as you wish, my lady.’ Hobbling as fast as his lame leg would allow, he fetched a bridle and rein. Slipping them on Janna he opened the bottom door of the stall, led her out and began walking her slowly towards the stable exit.

Lynet was enchanted. The only horses she’d ever seen were the great beasts who pulled the village plough and the huge war stallions ridden by Lord Ranulf and his cousins. By comparison Janna was tiny. ‘She’s so dainty,’ she said as she followed them out.

‘That’s ’cos she’s a palfrey,’ Tom informed her, pleased to impart his superior knowledge. ‘Thass a lady’s horse.’

‘A lady’s horse?’ said Lynet in surprise. ‘So whose is she? And why didn’t she go with the others?’

Tom’s face darkened. ‘Father Anslem’s,’ he said shortly, and Lynet nodded in comprehension. Clerics usually rode smaller horses, or even mules, to signify their humble status, though Father Anslem was anything but humble.

Tom pointed to the tight bandage on her left front leg. ‘And thass why she couldn’t go. She’s strained a fetlock.’

‘Poor thing,’ said Lynet. She ran a gentle finger over several long thin marks where the hair had grown in white against Janna’s glossy chestnut hide. ‘What are these?’ she asked.

Tom’s face darkened even further until he was positively glowering. ‘Spur marks where the bastard rowelled her,’ he growled, then spat on the ground. ‘I wouldn’t let the fucker near a spavined old nag, let alone a decent horse.’

He suddenly realised what he’d said and looked at Lynet with a stricken expression. ‘Beggin’ your pardon, my lady,’ he said, practically grovelling. ‘No harm meant.’ He looked at her pleadingly. ‘You won’t tell ’im what I said, will yer? ’E’d ’ave the skin off my back for insolence.’

‘Don’t worry,’ said Lynet, her lips tightening as she remembered the way the ‘holy man’ had groped her breasts, ‘Father Anslem is no friend of mine. Your secret’s safe with me. Though I would advise you to curb your tongue in future, lest your words get back to their subject.’

The boy’s relief was palpable. ‘Thank you, my lady,’ he breathed, the colour returning to his cheeks. ‘I will.’

They continued walking Jenna in amiable silence, until the animal’s limp – and Tom’s – became more pronounced and it was obvious both boy and beast were tiring. ‘Best get her back to the stable and bathe that leg again,’ said Tom.

‘I suppose so,’ said Lynet reluctantly. ‘I thank you for your company.’

‘You could come again, my lady,’ he said eagerly, and then blushed. ‘If you like, that is. ‘’T’wont be long till that leg’s better; then you could ride her. Once she’s fit she’ll need the exercise.’

Lynet’s face fell. ‘I can’t ride,’ she said. ‘I don’t know how.’

‘Then I could teach yer,’ he suggested. ‘Bet you’d make a better fist of it than Father Anslem. A sack o’ grain sits a horse better than he do.’

‘Less of the insolence, young man,’ said Lynet, unable to suppress her amusement. ‘That would be wonderful,’ she went on. ‘Thank you, I’ll come again tomorrow.’

And she did, and every day after that as well, and by the end of the week Janna was waiting for her arrival expectantly, though the apples Lynet carried might have explained her rapturous welcome. Then after the second week, when Janna’s leg was fully healed, the lessons began.

‘I can’t do it like this,’ said Lynet in exasperation as she got her wind back after falling off and hitting the soft turf for the third time. ‘Why do I have to sit sideways anyway? It’s stupid.’

‘’Cos thass how ladies ride,’ said Tom, primly. ‘It ain’t proper for ’em to ride astraddle. Besides,’ he went on, on a more practical note, ‘you couldn’t do it even if you wanted to. Not in them skirts.’

‘I could if I was wearing breeches,’ said Lynet slyly.

He looked at her in alarm. ‘Well you ain’t getting mine,’ he retorted. ‘I only got one pair and I ain’t running around with my arse hanging out for nobody.’

‘I didn’t ask for them, did I?’ said Lynet, thinking of the old clothes Ranulf had left discarded in the cedar chest, and she gave him a smug smile. ‘I’m sure I can find something if I put my mind to it.’

The following morning, when she arrived at the stable, she was carrying a rolled up bundle under her arm. She disappeared into one of the empty stalls, then reappeared five minutes later dressed in Ranulf’s cast-offs.

‘There, what do you think?’ she asked, doing a twirl for Tom’s approval.

The stable lad gawped at her with his mouth open, then promptly burst into peals of hysterical laughter. ‘God’s truth,’ he spluttered when he could finally speak again, ‘you’re enough to scare the crows, an’ no mistake.’

He was right. Despite being folded over several times and cinched round her middle with an old belt, the pair of shabby hose hung round her ankles, while the knee-length tunic reached her calves and billowed round her. ‘It’s not that bad,’ she protested.

‘Oh yes it is,’ he assured her. ‘You’re like summat out of my gran’s ol’ rag-bag.’

‘Well it’ll just have to do,’ she said crossly. ‘I don’t have a needle and thread to sort them properly.’

‘I’ll borrow you one,’ he offered. ‘Can’t ’ave yer goin’ round lookin’ like that; you’ll frighten the horse.’

‘Thank you,’ Lynet said indignantly, ignoring the latter remark. ‘Now if you don’t mind I’d like to get on with my riding.’

Muffling his sniggers, Tom helped her onto Janna, and despite her bizarre appearance the solution worked, for sitting astride Janna, Lynet had no more problems with her balance and the lesson went on apace.

At the end of it Tom looked at her in admiration. ‘Took to that like a duck to water, you have,’ he said. ‘Bit more practice and folk’ll think you’ve been doing it all your days.’

‘I’ve got a good teacher,’ said Lynet, swinging her leg over the saddle and sliding down to the ground, but the baggy seat of the hose caught on the pommel and there was an unpleasant ripping sound. Lynet clutched her rear in dismay.

‘Best get ahold o’ that sewing stuff soon as I can,’ said Tom, biting his lip to keep his face straight.

‘Yes, please,’ said Lynet, and thanking her lucky stars that the tunic covered her bottom she escaped into the stable to transform herself back into a blushing maiden.

Tom was as good as his word and by the end of the week Lynet had managed to cut and stitch the old clothes into something that very nearly fitted her. With the leftover cloth she made herself a breast band, to stop her bosom bouncing quite so exuberantly as she rode, and judging by Tom’s reaction, the overall result was impressive.

‘Thass better,’ he said approvingly. ‘You looks like a stable lad now… well, apart from that long hair o’ yours.’ He paused and thought for a minute. ‘Here, I got an idea. Hang on a minute.’ He limped off into the tack room and reappeared with what looked like a bit of old sacking.

‘What’s that?’ asked Lynet.

He shook it out, beat out the worst of the dust and held it up. ‘Whass it look like?’ he said. ‘Is a hood, ain’t it? You stick that on and nobody’ll see your hair. You’ll look like a proper lad then.’

Ignoring the dust and straw, Lynet did as she was told. It settled round her shoulders, the hood hanging down her back, but when she coiled her hair and pulled it up the effect was astonishing. With her hair and half her face hidden she could easily be mistaken for a boy.

‘Told yer so,’ grinned Tom. ‘Yer looks just like me now.’

The idea sprang fully-fledged into her mind, as if it had already been there, just waiting for an opportunity. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘In that case there should be no problem when I leave the bailey and go riding outside, should there?’

Tom gawped at her. ‘You’re mad, you are,’ he gasped. ‘You can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’ challenged Lynet. ‘If you hadn’t been teaching me these past weeks you’d be doing it, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes, but thass different,’ he protested.

‘How?’ demanded Lynet. ‘Now she’s fit Janna needs exercise, doesn’t she?’ He nodded reluctantly. ‘There you go then,’ said Lynet in triumph. ‘As long she’s ridden nobody needs to know who’s actually doing the riding, do they?’

‘I dunno,’ he muttered. ‘What if something happens? What if you fall and break your neck? Or Jenna sticks her foot in a rabbit hole and breaks a leg?’

‘Nothing’s going to happen,’ said Lynet confidently. ‘You said yourself I’m a good rider.’ She pulled herself up to her full height and gave him an imperious look. ‘Now, are you going to obey my orders, or…?’ She allowed her words to trail away and his imagination to fill in the rest, crossing her fingers that he did not realise how impotent she really was.

He didn’t. ‘Yes, my lady,’ he muttered.

‘Thank you, Tom,’ she said kindly. ‘And don’t worry; everything will be fine.’

Despite her brave words she didn’t feel quite so confident next morning, as she approached the gates of the palisade – particularly when the guard challenged her.

‘Where d’ye think you’re going, lad?’ he demanded. ‘Ain’t no one supposed to go in nor out without permission.’

‘You goin’ to tell his lordship that when ’e comes back and Father Anslem’s beast ain’t fit?’ said Lynet, in a fair imitation of Tom’s gruff tones. She shrugged. ‘Fair enough, it’s no skin off my arse. I ain’t the one what’ll get the beating.’ She made to turn Jenna round again, holding her breath and praying her ploy would work.

‘Get out of it then,’ grumbled the guard, slouching across and pulling the gate open just enough to let her pass, then banging it shut behind her.

She breathed a sigh of relief, savouring her freedom. It seemed as if she’d been locked up forever. Her first thought was to head towards the village and her family and friends, but that was out of the question; she no longer had any.

Suppressing the feeling of loss that threatened to overwhelm her she carefully picked her way down the steep slope until she reached the flat meadows at the bottom, then gave Janna her head. The wind rushed past her and she was filled with an incredible exhilaration as she gave herself up to the speed and excitement of the ride.

Finally they reached the edge of the meadow and Janna slowed to a walk. The woods were red-gold in the autumn sunshine and Lynet turned the horse’s head towards the length of smooth sward between the trees. They ambled along it, both of them enjoying the change of scenery after being cooped up for so long.

They had reached the end, where the sward petered out into undergrowth, when a dark figure rose from the tangled bracken, sending Janna into a panic. She reared up and Lynet almost lost her seating as she struggled to calm the little mare, and by the time she had her under control again she was panting with shock and effort.

‘Sorry, lad, I didn’t mean to startle you,’ said the figure, and Lynet found herself staring down into a familiar face.

‘Edric?’ she gasped, causing him to drop the pile of firewood he was carrying and stare at her in surprise.

‘How do you know my name, boy?’ he asked. ‘Do I know you?’

Lynet slipped from Jenna’s back, pulled off the hood and let her coiled hair fall down her back. ‘It’s me,’ she cried, ‘Lynet! Your wife!’

If she thought he would rush to take her in his arms she was sadly mistaken. His mouth set in a hard line and he regarded her with contempt. ‘Wife?’ he said coldly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have no wife.’ Deliberately turning away from her he bent to pick up the wood he’d dropped.

Her shoulders sagged with despair, and then she was overcome by fury. In two quick steps she was beside him, and grabbing his arm she spun him round to face her. ‘How dare you turn your back on me?’ she demanded. ‘Do you think I stayed with Lord Ranulf through choice? What do you think would have happened if I had not? His men would have massacred the lot of you, that’s what. I saved your lives.’

‘Aye, by spreading your legs for him,’ he spat. ‘Shame you couldn’t have spread them for the Bastard King himself and saved the whole country while you were at it.’ His lips curled into a sneer. ‘Perhaps we should put statues of you in church. St Lynet, Patroness of Whores.’

The hurt she felt at his words merely fuelled her anger the more, and before she knew it she lifted her hand and slapped him hard across the face. To her shock he retaliated immediately, sending her reeling, the mark of his hand scarlet against her pale cheek. ‘You disappoint me, Edric,’ she said softly. ‘I never thought to see the day you would raise your hand to a woman.’

He ran his gaze pointedly over her and she became suddenly self-conscious of her male garments. ‘What woman?’ he sneered. ‘All I see is a stable lad who does not know his place, and needs a good hiding to teach him it.’ Fists clenched, he advanced on her again.

She flinched but held her place. ‘I am no stable lad, I am your wife,’ she repeated. ‘And well you know it.’

‘No wife of mine would soil her soul and body by dressing as a man,’ he said. ‘It goes against every law of God and nature.’ His eyes flashed. ‘Get them off.’

She stared at him uncertainly. ‘Wh-what did you say?’ she gasped.

‘You heard me,’ he said, his voice venomous. ‘If you are my wife you must obey me. Take off those foul clothes.’

This time she did take a pace back. His face had set hard and she barely recognised him. It was like looking at a hostile stranger. There was no love in his eyes, merely the unbridled lust she had come to recognise in Lord Ranulf. His face was flushed and his tongue flicked out to lick his dry lips as he stared at her greedily.

Her eyes flickered as she glanced to where Janna was quietly cropping the forest floor. If she turned and ran now she might make it to the saddle before—

Too late. He was on her, his hands ripping at her clothes. The neck of her cloak tore and it dropped to the ground. There was a ripping sound as her tunic followed. The band that flattened her full bosom resisted for a brief moment beneath his clawing fingers, and then snapped like a strand of wet thread. Her breasts spilled free, the nipples hardening at the touch of the cold air.

‘Like it rough now, do you?’ he grunted, grabbing them and twisting until she squealed with pain and outrage. ‘Is that what your fine new master’s taught you?’

She struggled to break free but he held her tight, and even through his clothing she could feel his cock prodding against her belly. His hands were at her waist, tugging at her hose, dragging them over the curve of her hips until they slid down her legs, leaving her naked from the waist down too. Holding her with one hand he thrust the other between her thighs, gasping as his fingers pressed into the soft wetness of her.

Fear gave her strength and she made one last effort. ‘Get off me,’ she demanded, pushing him with all her strength. He staggered and she turned to flee, only to topple on her face, her legs entangled in her fallen hose.

He was on her in an instant and they rolled together in the damp grass. Panting, he sat up and dragged her over his knee. ‘Whore!’ he snarled, bringing his hand down on her exposed bottom and making her shriek with pain. ‘Whore! Slut!’

A blow punctuated each word until the pale skin of her backside was scarlet and every move brought even more agony, and still he had not run out of insults, or of rage. Only when her shrieks had turned to whimpers did he finally push her away, and sobbing she pulled herself together, thanking God it was all over.

But it had barely begun.

Getting to his feet he stood above her, pulling off his jerkin and fumbling with the strings of his breeches. As they fell to his knees his cock sprang out and her eyes widened in shock. She had seen him aroused before, but never like this.

His cock was large, jutting from his groin like an iron bar. Purple veins throbbed beneath the skin and the head was so swollen it looked like a ripe plum that would burst at the first touch. He gripped it in one hand and a bead of moisture leaked from the tip.

Reaching down, he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her into a kneeling position in front of him. ‘Suck it, bitch!’ he grated, thrusting his loins towards her, his stout cock brushing her lips. ‘You know you want it.’

To her horror he was right. The spanking had set her aflame, the heat from her reddened buttocks spreading to the pit of her belly, where it lodged, sending out hot tendrils of lust. Each beat of her pulse made the secret place between her thighs moisten in anticipation.

Fighting her own dreadful desires she tried to turn her head away, but Edric tightened his grip, holding her in place. ‘Do it,’ he ordered.

Against her will she found herself opening her mouth, and with a groan of satisfaction he pushed his cock between her soft lips, shuddering in pleasure as he was engulfed in her hot mouth.

She gagged and tried to jerk away as the swollen head filled her, almost stopping her breath, but he was immovable. There was no choice but to give in. Gingerly she touched it with the tip of her tongue, and he shuddered once more.

With confidence growing shamefully, she began to relish this new sensation, and sucking gently she swirled her tongue over the bulbous tip and delicately explored it. With tantalising slowness she deliberately traced the thick ridge around the base of the head.

He gasped, his hand beginning to move up and down his shaft, his legs trembling as he tried to force himself deeper into her mouth. His hand pressed against the back of her head, her own excitement mounting, she sucked more greedily. One hand trailed down over her tummy to part the soft lips of her sex and slip two fingers inside herself, matching the rhythmic bobbing of her head as she pleasured her husband with her lips and tongue.

He stiffened and she braced herself for the eruption of his seed, but instead, to her shock, he pulled away. She whimpered with thwarted desire and reached for him again, only to get another slap for her pains.

‘Not yet,’ he panted, trying to control his breathing. ‘I will take you my way.’ He nudged her with the toe of his boot. ‘Lie on your back and spread your legs,’ he ordered.

Obediently she lay at his feet, her legs wide, her fingers still busy inside herself. Her eyelids fluttered as she neared her release, then opened wide in shock as he knelt and wrenched her hand away.

‘Not yet, I said,’ he repeated, and she lay still, looking at him with a mixture of fear and anticipation. Kneeling between her thighs he took his cock in his hand again and ran it slowly up and down her glistening cleft until she thought she would scream with frustration.

‘Want it, do you, slut?’ he grated, and she nodded dumbly, but it was not enough for him. ‘Then let me hear you beg,’ he taunted.

She closed her eyes, her humiliation complete, but the demands of her body were too much. ‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Please, please…’ then she shrieked as her thrust into her.

Sobbing with discomfort she tried to squirm free, but it was impossible and she merely impaled herself further. Pulling back he shunted into her again, and again and again as if the very violence of his assault could wipe away all trace of Ranulf.

In Lynet’s spinning head pain and pleasure became inextricably mixed. Shuddering, she lifted her hips, meeting each thrust with one of her own, taking him even deeper, her breasts quivering with the force of each stroke until finally he stiffened, groaned, and with one last thrust he spent himself and collapsed upon her.

The feel of his cock jerking as his seed erupted was too much and she shrieked her own pleasure as she climaxed in response, then together they lay panting in the damp grass.

As he recovered, Edric was overcome by shame. ‘Oh, dear God,’ he groaned. ‘Forgive me, my love. What have I become, to treat you so?’

Lynet cradled his head against her breasts, petting him as if he were a child. ‘Hush now,’ she soothed. ‘’T’will be all right. We’ll manage, you’ll see.’

Janna whinnied softly, bringing them back to reality.

‘I’d best go back,’ said Lynet, reluctantly withdrawing from his arms and reaching for her discarded clothes. ‘I do not wish to draw attention to myself. If I am discovered I will not be able to come again.’

‘But you will come again?’ asked Edric. He put his hands on her shoulders and gently shook her. ‘You promise?’

‘I promise,’ said Lynet. ‘I will meet you here tomorrow.’ She held up her torn tunic and breast band and smiled wryly. ‘Though you must promise to be a little gentler. I shall have to sit long at my needle tonight, to repair the damage you have done.’

He blushed. ‘It will not happen again,’ he vowed, and then kissed her affectionately. ‘You have my word.’

Hiding her torn clothes as best she could beneath her cloak, Lynet tucked her hair back beneath her hood and rode slowly back to the castle. Each roll in the saddle sent a twinge of pain through her spanked buttocks and made her grit her teeth, but it was equally matched by the pleasant throb between her thighs.

Even the gateman’s gloating comment when he saw the bruise on her jaw and the state of her clothes could not mar her secret pleasure. ‘Take a tumble then, did yer, lad?’ he chuckled.

‘Aye,’ she grunted, putting her head down to hid a smile; you could say that, and a most satisfactory tumble it had been too.

Thus began the strangest period of Lynet’s life. Each morning she would go to the stables, change into male clothes and ride out of the gates, sneaking off to meet her lawfully wedded husband, as if he were some secret lover.

When the weather worsened they carried on their trysts further afield, in the shepherd’s hut at the foot of the hills, until late November when the first snows came and even that was denied them.

Christmas came and went, but Lynet took no part in the drunken revelry at the castle, preferring to lock herself away from the lewd glances of the male servants, and when she heard unsteady footsteps and a furtive hand trying the door, she simply put her head beneath the covers and held her breath until they were gone.

By mid-January she felt as if she’d been imprisoned forever. Even Lord Ranulf’s return would be welcome, if only to break the monotony. ‘I’m bored,’ she complained, wrapping her cloak around herself and huddling closer to the great fire in the hall. ‘Nothing ever happens here. I have not even set foot outdoors these past three days.’ She looked miserably at Alfred. ‘Is there no news?’

‘No, my lady,’ he sighed. ‘Nothing.’ But as if to belie his words there was a pounding at the great door of the hall. Lynet leapt to her feet, but the servants had already got there and as if it was hauled open a tall man, his clothes wet and travel-stained, almost fell in.

‘Damn,’ he complained, stamping his boots, brushing snow from his shoulders and glaring round, ‘is this how you welcome weary travellers? Nine days I’ve been on the road from London.’ He gave Alfred a buffet that almost sent him flying. ‘Alfred, you old whoreson! Fetch me ale and something to eat before I perish.’

Lynet stared at him with her mouth open. ‘And you must be my lord’s leman,’ he said, turning to her and smiling, revealing a mouthful of strong yellow teeth. He eyed her up and down then winked. ‘And as pretty a strumpet as I’ve seen this past six months.’

Before she realise what he was about he had lifted her off her feet and planted a whiskery kiss full on her mouth, before setting her down again. Spluttering indignantly she wiped her mouth with her sleeve.

‘Take no notice of Luke,’ chuckled Alfred, returning with a tray containing enough food and drink for three men. ‘He’s always like this. One of these days he’ll go too far and they’ll have his head for it.’

‘Devil the fear of it,’ scoffed Luke, swallowing half a bottle of wine at one go and beginning to demolish a haunch of venison. ‘I’m far too useful. Not wishing to brag,’ he went on, attempting to look modest and failing miserably, ‘but who else could have made it here in this weather?’ He winked at Lynet. ‘And all to bring a lady a new year’s gift from her lover.’

‘I have no lover,’ said Lynet coldly. ‘I have a master. There’s a difference.’

If she thought to have put him in his place she was sadly mistaken. ‘Master, my arse,’ he snorted. ‘I never knew a woman yet who couldn’t get her own way if she wanted to.’ He winked at her. ‘Besides, you take what you can get while you’re still young and pretty, my girl,’ he advised. ‘Refuse nothing but blows, that’s my motto.’

He turned to Alfred. ‘Send a couple of those idle jackanapes down to the stables to fetch my baggage,’ he ordered. ‘My lady will soon change her tune when she sees what I’ve brought her.’

Alfred clicked his fingers and two of the servants trudged resentfully out into the wind and snow. When they had gone Luke reached into his jerkin, brought out a small packet wrapped in waxed linen and handed it to Alfred. Inside was a letter, with Lord Ranulf’s seal on it in red wax. Alfred opened and scanned it quickly.

‘It seems there is no war with France, after all,’ he said slowly. ‘’T’was only rumour. My lord will be returning in April when the roads are clear again.’

Lynet’s heart sank at the prospect. So much for her hopes that his death in battle would release her from this purgatory. Even the return of the servants with Luke’s pack failed to raise her spirits. She regarded the contents – two silk gowns, one in russet and the other in a deep forest green – with a lacklustre eye. ‘Very nice,’ she muttered.

‘Nice?’ exploded Luke. ‘Hell’s teeth, girl! Do you know how much those cost? You could buy a decent suit of armour for what he paid for that frippery – not to mention the jewels that go with them.’

Delving deeper he produced a velvet roll and unwrapped the contents. ‘See?’ He held up two gold necklets, one set with topazes and the other with a single perfect emerald. ‘Surely these will warm your heart towards him?’

‘The only thing that would do that would be if he had the good grace to die and leave me be,’ said Lynet tartly. ‘Otherwise he can take his baubles and stick them up his—’

Her words were drowned by Luke’s bellow of laughter. ‘But you’re a strange whore,’ he chuckled, wiping tears of mirth from his cheeks. ‘Most I know would be down on their knees thanking their lucky stars for such a generous benefactor.’

‘Perhaps that’s because I am not a whore,’ snapped Lynet, and grabbing her gifts she flounced off to Lord Ranulf’s room, flung them in the bottom of the cedar chest and dusted her hands. There! If he thought he could buy her, he had another think coming!